


Heaven Can't Wait Ficlet

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:52:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of the 'Heaven Can't Wait' promo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Can't Wait Ficlet

“ _Steve_?”

Castiel watches as Dean shakes his head in contempt, though he knows he’s kidding by the small smile tugging that the corner of the hunter’s lips.

Dean walked into Nora’s shop fifteen minutes ago, searching up and down for Castiel after hearing rumor of him being somewhere in the immediate area. He’d found him the first place he’d bothered to stop in.

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel places the soiled washcloth into the little bucket beneath the counter. “I’ve been informed that ‘Castiel: Angel of the Lord’ isn’t a generic human title. ‘Steve’ would suffice as an alias.”

Dean rolls his eyes and chuffs a fist over Castiel’s shoulder. With a grin, his eyes shift down Castiel’s chest, pausing as they graze his groin, and wander back up to his eyes.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, a mischievous  glint in his eye.

Castiel shrugs, not really dodging the question so much as not having an answer. He knows that Dean means he is needed for a hunt, but he _does not_ want to go back to those days. He’d rather carry out his now human existence fulfilling the duties of a mundane job and finding solace in another person, despite how much he wants it to be his best friend.

A throaty little growl emerges from Dean’s mouth and Castiel’s attention is immediately snapped back to the person in front of him.

“What?”

Castiel observes Dean’s face change colors; first darkening to an almost sunburned complexion, then to a more reddish hue, finally to an obnoxiously scarlet hue that reaches from hairline to chin, congealing at his neck.

“I, uh, want you back, man.”

“Dean, I don’t want to go back to hunting.”

And Castiel means it, despite how much his gut screams at him for denying any form of existence with the righteous man standing before him. Despite how desperate he is to close the distance between them, whether it be metaphorical or physical.

“I don’t, er, mean for the hunt.” Dean rubs a hand into the back of his neck, shifts his gaze to the floor. “I mean, it would be great if you could help us. But…” Dean trails off, the red deepening with each passing second.

“Then what do you want me for, Dean?”

Castiel isn’t completely adept to human ticks and behavioral patterns quite yet. He’s only walked among them for a few short years; he hasn’t even had the chance to learn the habits of _one_ human yet, even if that human is the one he’s fallen for in all senses of the word. Despite this ignorance, however, Castiel does know a thing or two about hormones and how reactive humans are to their presence. He understands what the strong blush spreading over Dean’s features indicates.

That being said, he still doesn’t expect the kiss.

Dean’s arms reach over the counter quickly but oddly tentatively. He captures Castiel’s shoulders within his sturdy fingers and drags his face near his own, crashing their lips in a slow, rhythmic touch.

Castiel’s first kiss had been pleasant. But it was rough, it was sulfuric, it was _dirty_. This kiss was sweet, slow and tasted like sugar and cherries. This kiss melded and bent in calm and desperate and soft movements. This kiss reflected love, not lust. This kiss was Dean.

They break away. Dean’s breath is slightly labored, his lips are slightly redder and spit sleek.

“Cas, I want you to _stay_ ,” Dean says, his voice trembling slightly with the admittance. “I want you to stay with me.”

Castiel doesn’t even have to consider it. He’s known his answer since he watched that fish, the fish Father had told him was special, flop onto that dusty beach just south of where India would’ve been located. He’d known it since he fell for the green eyed, freckled Winchester, well aware of all of the consequences he’d face.

“I’ll stay.”


End file.
